


Tetherless

by alovelylight



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Family Feels, Flint and Eleanor Friendship, Marion Guthrie is a badass, Secret Relationship, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelylight/pseuds/alovelylight
Summary: Where would we have gone?In which Eleanor Guthrie follows her heart and agrees to run away with Max. But the shifting sands of Nassau will never collapse, and they must decide between finding peace and plunging into the fathoms of war.





	Tetherless

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself for starting a multichaptered fic, but this what-if was too enticing not to pick up and things...got out of hand.
> 
> Comments are very much loved!

_“Eleanor, this place is just sand. It cannot love you back.”_

Max’s words, ringing into the naked underbelly of the room, filled Eleanor with a numbing sense of dread.

Centuries passed and collapsed as she stared at the other woman, the words that would execute her lover’s fate— _their_ fate dangling from the branch of her lips. But the look in Max’s eyes, the steel of love and softness of devotion there, held her back.

“If we do this,” she found her voice again, “if we go with this... _plan_ , then what do you suppose we do? There’s no chance. Captain Flint stands on the other side of that door; he’s had promised me a future of stability in Nassau. Why should I trade that for a vague promise?”

Max’s hands were warm when she caught Eleanor’s own. “Is that not too a vague promise? Not me, Eleanor, _I_ am real,” she whispered. “Once we have our share of the profits, we will do what we please. Build a home; roam the world and devour life; make _something_ of ourselves. Not what this place demands of us, but what has been inside us all along.”

Like any other part of Max, it was hard to ignore the siren’s call of her promises. Once the lulling melody has settled itself into Eleanor’s heart, she knew she was walking onward into something she couldn’t reverse. Max must’ve realized it, too, for she stood up to take Eleanor’s face into her hands.

“Do you trust me?”

A question not as simple as it looked, yet Eleanor never doubted the other woman. Charles knew how to bring out the animal in her, the one that rutted with fire-eyed desire, but he never reached the fragile girl. Flint was her closest ally, but their goals shaped their relationship more than anything; once the sand shifted, who knew where that might lead them. Max, as it turned out, was her most constant peace.

“Yes,” she closed her eyes and leaned against Max. “Fucking hell, they’re outside -”

“Let me handle this.”

“No, let me.” Heaving a deep breath, she called for Flint and his men to enter. “Here are the conditions.”

“What conditions do you speak of?” Flint frowned, sensing the sudden change in her disposition. “Does she have the schedule or not?”

Eleanor turned to Max. “Tell them. I promise you it will be alright.”

It took her a few minutes to articulate. “My partner has it. He’ll be by the wrecks at sundown.”

Eleanor drew a deep breath.

“Right, so here are the conditions: the only way you can get the schedule back on your ship is if you purchase it with 5,000 pesos, half of which is given to Max and the other to her partner. I will send my men to the beach to ensure that Captain Vane won’t be near the transaction. Are we clear?”

Gates and Flint shared a bewildered glance; to say they looked displeased would be a grave understatement. “You seem to misunderstand me,” Flint said, evidently trying to restrain from shouting, “the Urca prize encompasses what selfish individual desires _she_ may harbor. It is our key to securing a future for this place, and your offer of compromise for what is clearly a personal bias suggests to me that _you_ are willing to compromise that very future.”

“ _You_ misunderstand me, then,” she folded her arms. “I am offering Max the money out of personal loyalty, yes, but also because she deserves a life bigger, richer, fuller than this. Isn’t that what we both want? For better things for the faces of Nassau - for them to escape the chains which hold them captive?”

“What’s to say we won’t accept your conditions and chase down the thief anyway?” Gates asked.

“If you won’t honor these terms, I will deprive your crew of your ship.” She looked Flint in the eye. “I say this as a threat, knowing your full dedication to the endeavor—but as much as I respect and support you, don’t think that it is ultimately beyond me. _She_ is more than gold to me.”

Behind Eleanor, Max raised her voice. “Don’t kill my partner. I’ve made a promise to him; it would be unfair were you to take his life and keep mine. Please.”

Flint was looking at her, his hardened eyes searching Eleanor’s face for a trace of lie. A part of her hurt to keep secrets from him; she still wished to make him proud, in some way or other. “I suppose it will have to do, as the current state of affairs are,” he scoffed. “But if I don’t find the thief by the wrecks, not even your protection could hide the girl from what is to come.”

* * *

In truth, she hadn’t an inkling of where she and Max would both be accepted. The Guthrie name has been hurled into ruin by polite society ever since her father set foot on Nassau, and she was no exception. But no matter how much she armed herself with logic, Max always seemed to unravel her into an unworldly romantic.

“Your shoulders feel like rocks,” Max huffed one night, as her hands settled over Eleanor’s back. “You worry too much.”

“Worrying is part of the job,” she grunted.

“Not for much longer. Max will be your harbor.”

Eleanor didn’t answer.

“Eleanor?” Max’s hand drifted to her cheek, pulled it towards her. “Are you rethinking things?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” she hastily assured her. “I just don’t have a damn clue of where we could go. It’s not in my nature, to abandon responsibility. And I can’t deny the guilt I would surely feel, for Mr. Scott, for Flint, for even my father.”

“Is it guilt,” Max’s hands caressed the stone of her skin, “or is it shame?”

“What the bloody difference does that make?”

“Darling, one is a result of self-disappointment for not doing the thing you know, deep in your heart of hearts, was the right decision. The other is a result of disgrace for not rising to the expectations of the world.”

“And you think I'm afflicted with the latter?”

“Max thinks you are plagued with the burdens of this island and the self-important men who all want you to do one thing or other to suit their means.”

“There _are_ too many men,” Eleanor murmured. “But where isn't there?”

Max’s hands stilled on her shoulders. Eleanor glanced at her to see a look of intense focus. “What is it?”

“You’ve mentioned something about your grandmother before. About a letter she wrote to you, back when you were seventeen. You think we may still have her sympathetic ear?”

“I highly doubt it,” she scoffed. “Nobody from England would dare associate with my father’s side of the family.”

“Why don’t you write to her?”

“She’d likely tell her husband about us than extend a helping hand. There’s no way; forget it.”

“Forget it?” Max’s voice sharpened. “Do you see an alternative? Eleanor, even if she were to tell your grandfather about us, they _couldn't_ do anything about it. They've washed their hands off you.”

“How are you so sure?”

“It helps to take chances. And if I know a thing about women,” her voice warmed the air around Eleanor’s ears, making her head swirl, “it’s that they tend to help each other in times of trouble.”

There wasn’t much talking done after that.

But later that night, once Max has fallen asleep next to her, Eleanor crept into her study to find the letter in question. At the back of her drawer, dusted with specks of time, was her grandmother’s letter—addressed to the girl she was at seventeen, still strong-willed and stubborn, but lit aflame from within.

_Dear Eleanor,_

_I write to you in a moment of afflicted judgment. One side of me hastens to disregard you as a cause lost to pirate society, a wild-natured figment of Nassau whose accomplishments would drown in the dark. The other side is formed from the things I’ve constructed with my own two hands—as a woman, I am wary of all absolutes, knowing full well the flaws of narratives that vilify the people with no voices in society._

_This is the side that seeps from these words. Eleanor, I am of the belief that it is not too late for us to turn the tide of history. With the bounty of responsibilities you would surely manage in the wake of your newfound power, I feel in me the urge to guide you into the right way of things, if you’d allow me._

_My home in Philadelphia is open to you, whenever you are ready to see me. We can walk the Charles and discuss matters, the matters that will surely come and affect us all—whether we are from the Old World or the New, there is a divide that needs to be bridged by powers from both ends. It is my belief that you can meet me in the middle._

_Your grandmother,_

_Marion Guthrie_

Eleanor stared at the letter for a long time, still hesitant to acknowledge the hope that had arisen within her. She had skimmed the letter when she first received it, her young temper preventing her from seriously considering Marion Guthrie’s offer. But now, a few years down the line and a lover in mind, the tides have turned.

So she took up her quill and her ink, and began to write.

* * *

Charles Vane gave fury a whole new name; not only was he deprived of the schedule, his rival had gained it - and the only person small enough to be punished by his wrath was under Eleanor’s care. The same fury that used to drug her had now hardened her resolve against him.

The conciliation that he and Rackham received came in the form of a partnership between the two crews. “Are you as surprised as I am,” the former drawled, when they were left alone at the negotiation room. “That I'm the only one here behaving myself?”

She smirked at his cockiness, but didn’t give the satisfaction of an answer.

“Where are you, Eleanor?” he asked while she poured more rum. She can feel his dark eyes observing her with a cat’s gaze.

“What do you mean?” she raised an eyebrow.

“You are not here. I’ve never met a more sharp-eyed woman, and yet...your mind drifts. I can see it.”

“Then perhaps you should get better vision.”

“Perhaps,” he frowned, tilting his head slightly into a faux-thoughtful expression. “Or perhaps you have something else up your sleeve. You’re not as sly as you think you are; don’t forget that I still know you.”

“ _Know me?”_ she couldn’t suppress her scoff. “Why, because we used to fuck?”

“Even in the shadows I can see you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You saved Max not because you’re a noble lover— _you_ have something to gain from that transaction. The question is what it is.” Eleanor felt her skin prickle as Charles looked at her. “I fear that the answer may be pointing towards yourself first, Nassau second.”

“You will worm no answers out of me, for such questions have no fucking reason to be formed,” she snarled, aware of the stuttering steps of her heart. She barely noticed when Gates and Flint returned, the latter still glowering from his lecture.

Flint raised an eyebrow at her from his spot, a silent question in the air. She tried not to let her mind wander for the rest of the meeting, lest she expose herself again.

“Is everything alright?” he asked her when they were finally left alone.

“As alright as I can be, with such hope ahead of us.”

“I would not relax at this point in time; we still have a war of ghosts and labor ahead of us, and I need all hands on deck in order to brave through that war. That includes you.”

“I know, Flint. I know,” she softened her voice to ensure that she sounded sincere. He seemed convinced.

“And Max? Where is she going?”

“I believe she has family in Tortuga,” Eleanor mustered, the sly-eyed liar of her youth slithering back. “She’s missed them terribly.”

“You let her go so easily?”

She turned to him. “I am not a tyrant, after all. If she wishes to leave, and has the means to do so, I will let her go her own way.”

Flint took in her words, his face careful not to reveal anything as usual. “Good.”

“Good?”

“It means you’re willing to set aside your own wants for the sake of the future we’re going to make.”

She didn’t reply. But as he was about to leave, she found her voice. “And what then? We distort ourselves to bring this dream into fruition?”

“Flowers have to sprout from soil bruised and tarnished by cruel weather; we all have sacrifices to make.”

In the dim light, he was both somber-eyed and glinting with quiet fury, so much so like a splintering statue. She had wondered, many times, what secrets Flint had locked inside his chest and how those led to the so-called witch he made home with inland. She knew him well enough to accept he would never articulate his personal pains to her, but his secrecy alleviated some of her guilt: she was not the only one holding secrets to her heart.


End file.
